Category Archives: Bad Boys

Black Hawk pilot Captain Barbara Lynn Perry is running scared. Witness to an event too horrible to think about and too dangerous to talk of, she finds herself alienated from a world she has always had faith in.

With her Special Forces brother missing, she has only one other person to turn to. When her friend Flynn Swann isn’t available, Barbara is left with no choice but to trust the man Flynn sends to save her.

Psychiatrist Dominic Salter’s information from her superior officer’s file is that Barbara has gone rogue. Despite the damning evidence, every instinct tells him he’s dealing with an honorable woman, one who single-handedly saved Flynn from torture and a sure death. Dominic’s challenge is to delve his way beneath her tough, defensive attitude and coax the truth from a woman who’s too frightened to reveal her dark secret.

In his brand new facility containing a state of the art Dreampsych Transcender he’s experimenting with, a machine far beyond a simulator, Dominic has to gain the trust and confidence of Barbara while he resists the hard pull of attraction to this kick-ass woman.

Betrayed by a member of his staff, events take a sinister turn, and the pressure is on in a fight against time for Dominic to persuade Barbara to put her trust in him and reveal the truth before matters are taken out of his hands.

Her eyes flew open in a frenzied panic at the touch of a hand on her shoulder.

She surged to her feet and a red haze covered her vision from the violence of her memories. She knocked the dark figure above her onto his ass and spared him a brief, pitiful smile. She leaned in to appreciate the quick flash of surprise when he realized she’d relieved him of the gun he’d had tucked in his holster, neatly concealed under his thick cable-knit sweater. She held it to his temple. Ice formed to protect her heart. Self-preservation was paramount.

“It’s okay, Barbara. It was only a dream.” Her vision cleared while she stared into his tranquil features. “You’re safe, it was only a dream.”

But it wasn’t a dream. It was a memory, and nothing about it was okay.

Calmer, she scanned his face. Eyes soft as a rain-filled sky overflowed with empathy.

Barbara brought her face close to his. She’d seen fear many times and with varying degrees, but there was no fear from Dominic, just an innate patience as he waited for her to make her move.

Her mistake was touching him. She reached out her free hand and curved it around the back of his neck. The heat of his skin penetrated her iciness, warming the palm of her hand to remind her she was human and she held a human life at her mercy.

Not yet ready to acknowledge that humanity, she leaned in, her nose almost touching his. “What’s a good professor like you doing with a gun?”

The corner of his mouth kicked up as he kept his unwavering gaze on her. “Security. We have some very expensive equipment here. I am licensed.”

“You weren’t very secure, were you, Professor?”

“Dominic.”

“Yeah. That shit. Get me to call you by your name, we start to bond. Well, I’m not ready to bond, Prof.”

His low rumbling chuckle vibrated through her fingers. The guy had some balls to be able to laugh, even if it was a forced one. He leaned back on his elbows so she had to either let go of her hold on his neck or go with him. She rolled onto her knees so they pressed against his chest, surprised at the hard muscle she found there. Her position was a little precarious if he decided to flip her over, but she was still the one holding the gun to his head.

She gnawed at her bottom lip as she contemplated her options while the psychiatrist stared with endless patience in his deep, fathomless eyes until she made up her mind. With a regretful cluck, she shuffled back off Dominic’s body to rest on her haunches by his side. She should probably give him the benefit of the doubt.

She turned the gun around, offered him the handle, and as he took it, a thought occurred to her. “Is it loaded?”

His genuine smile spread wide, lightening his dark features as he sat upright to tuck the gun into its holster.

“It is.”

She came to her feet and offered her hand to help him up, unreasonably pleased when he took it and rolled to his feet, keeping a firm grip on her. His palm should have

been damp with sweat. Instead it was warm and dry. There was no softness to it, which was contrary to the rest of the image he portrayed.

“So, what do we do now, Professor?” She tilted her head to look up at him. It wasn’t difficult for anyone to be taller than she was, but he didn’t have the imposing height many of the soldiers she knew had. He was nowhere near as tall as the gorilla he employed, who probably topped six feet four. No, the solid professor was most likely just around the six feet mark, wide shoulders, his muscles were pretty well defined. She’d bet money he didn’t spend all day behind a desk in his cozy little gray-knit cardigan. She raked her gaze over him. He was a man of action.

Disappointed at the cool emptiness he left behind when he removed his hand from hers, she watched, intrigued, as he turned his back, apparently unconcerned that she could just whip the gun from him again. She’d made her point; he’d shown his trust. She didn’t feel the need to test him any further. It puzzled her why he should feel the need to carry a gun for security when the facility wasn’t commissioned and the only guest was her.

She studied him as he leaned over the desk, her opinion of the gentle professor evolving. There was definitely no need for him to carry a gun. Unless he knew something she didn’t. Unless Strachan had contacted him.

When he turned back, he held her file in one hand, his glasses in the other. “I think we can get to work. Come on. This way.”

Diane Saxon lives in the Shropshire countryside with her tall, dark, handsome husband, two gorgeous daughters, a Dalmatian, one-eyed kitten, ginger cat, four chickens and a new black Labrador puppy called Beau, whose name has been borrowed for her hero in For Heaven’s Cakes.

After working for years in a demanding job, on-call and travelling great distances, Diane gave it all up when her husband said “follow that dream”.

Having been hidden all too long, her characters have burst forth demanding plot lines of their own and she’s found the more she lets them, the more they’re inclined to run wild.

Nicholas Blake is your typical class A, rich bastard who loves getting what he wants. He’s spoiled, selfish and enjoys all the lavish pleasures life has to offer—especially those that involve women and getting naked. Nicholas’ life is just damn near perfect. But one night out on the town with his friends and everything changes. One encounter with a stripper in stilettos who fittingly calls herself Cinderella, and his life suddenly doesn’t seem so goddamn perfect anymore.

As if that isn’t enough, there’s also Emma, the new maid in his father’s mansion that immediately piques his curiosity with her sweet smile and blue-green eyes. He finds himself drawn to her and wants nothing more than to seduce her into his bed, to make her his. But he just can’t seem to stay away from the stripper that makes him burn in ways he never knew possible.

The more he starts to care for Emma, the stronger his obsession grows for Cinderella.

Insane? Absolutely.

Twisted? Yes.

Completely screwed up? Hell yes.

A decision needs to be made; he needs to choose. But will Nicholas be able to make that choice when he finds himself all tangled up in a giant cluster of love, lust and stilettos?

Nicholas jerked his head to the left in the direction from where the woman’s voice came, and noticed the dark-pink curtains.

“Pick one what?” He scanned the room.

“The shoes. Pick a pair,” a soft, sultry voice replied.

Then Nicholas noticed movement behind the curtain. Whoever it was dragged her hand along the fabric while leisurely pacing, apparently waiting for him to choose.

Instantly intrigued, he glanced at the cabinet and then back at the curtain. “You want me to choose a pair of shoes?”

“Yes, pick a pair and I will wear them.”

Nicholas felt a little tingle in the back of his neck when she spoke. He had only been in this room for five minutes and whoever was behind the curtain already had all his attention.

He moved a little closer to the curtain. “You know, a lot goes into choosing the right pair of shoes. For example, I’d need to know what you’re wearing first.” He tried to get a better look at the woman behind the curtain, but the fabric was just too damn dense for him to make out anything other than a silhouette.

“Why don’t you just pick a pair under the assumption that I’m not wearing anything,” she replied with soft, smoothly spoken words. Somehow it reminded him of melted chocolate.

“Why don’t you let me see for myself what you’re wearing?”

“That’s not how it works, Mr. Blake.”

The curtain swooshed a little as she moved behind it.

Nicholas turned to the glass cabinet with the shoes. How in God’s name was he supposed to choose? It was like telling a kid to choose one item in Willy Wonka’s candy factory. Im-fucking-possible.

After inspecting each pair, he finally opened the door and reached for a white pair of stilettos with a little diamond bow on top. A simple design, but it was the pair with the sharpest heel, and Nicholas loved those damn heels.

“So what do I do with these?” Nicholas inspected the shoes more closely.

And then a hand reached out from the other side of the curtain. Nicholas noticed the freshly manicured nails and beautiful dainty fingers. “Now you give them to me, and take a seat, Mr. Blake.”

Nicholas looked to the chair before handing her the shoes.

“On the table next to the chair you will see a pair of handcuffs and a blindfold. You need to sit down, lock one of the cuffs around your hand, put on the blindfold and then place both hands behind the back of the seat.”

Nicholas frowned. “Okay, I’m not sure I’m entirely comfortable with this. I thought this was a show. How am I supposed to enjoy the show if I can’t see anything?”

“Mr. Blake, I have three different types of shows I present. See, feel, and touch.”

“See, feel, and touch?” he mimed silently with his mouth.

“You can’t experience all at once.”

“Well, I’d sort of feel cheated then.”

“When you lose one of your senses, the other senses get heightened, Mr. Blake.”

Nicholas could not get over the beautiful sound of this woman’s voice. It was like her voice had a direct line straight down to his cock.

He started to leisurely pace around the room. “So I’m just curious, which show did my friends book me for?”

“Feel,” she replied.

Being the smart-ass that he was, Nicholas asked, “Isn’t that kind of the same thing as touch?”

“No, it’s not. With touch you would be allowed to use your hands, guided by me of course. With feel, you will only feel what I want you to feel.”

Okay, now he was really damn curious.

As he turned to the table and eyed the contents, he contemplated what his options were. Either he turned around now and then got labeled as a pussy by his friends, or he could put on the mask and the cuffs and see where this all went. But honestly, there was no way in hell he would be able to walk away now.

“What will it be, Mr. Blake?”

Nicholas shrugged and picked up the cuffs. “I guess we should get this show started then.”

About the Author:

Bella J lives in Cape Town, South Africa with her husband, two kids, & chihuahua. Her love for writing started in eighth grade when she received her first writing assignment—which she flunked. But the positive side of her failure—her newly found passion for writing. The negative side—now she’s completely spaced out half of the time living in her little pretend world of romance, love, & insanely hot heroes

So, I’m finally nearing the end of my self-edit for Balancing Act. I know I’m suuuuuuper slow, but I like to fool myself into thinking that means it will be better than if I was suuuuuper fast. Right? Here’s to hoping.

Anyway, I’ve been stalled on plans for the next book for a long time now. I’ve got an idea of what will happen–I know Andy’s story fairly well, but this entire time I’ve been dreading writing it because I think it will be hard. Like, really hard. I haven’t been able to plan a love story, because all I can see is darkness. I couldn’t visualize the happy times amid all the issues. Until a few days ago, when I finally got a solid mental picture of my other MC and it all clicked.

I know it will still be hard.

Image courtesy of kangshutters at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Andy has baggage, so this book can’t be a walk in the park. I mean, even with that fancy wheeled luggage, he can’t drag it behind him for a stroll around the grounds– not without sore arms and a twinge in his back. Not without mud puddles and dive-bombing pigeons, stray baseballs and rude joggers throwing monkey wrenches at every turn. Hell, I’d just stay home with all my baggage and save myself the trouble.

But it MUST be a walk in the park! It’s a romance, dammit! That’s what I do! No matter how tough my characters have it (and they MUST have it tough, because they are meant to be real–they’re real in my head and I need them real in my readers’ hearts and the only way for that to work is for my guys to bleed), they still deserve the rainbows and cooing doves and ice cream sundaes.

Well, I figured it out (safe for me to say from the only outlining stage). Life isn’t sunshine and roses for any of us, but if we have someone who loves us unconditionally, who wants to make every moment sunbeams and park walks and flowers, well, it will be. Eventually. Certainly some of the time. And hauling all that baggage is easier with an extra set of arms (especially an extremely diesel set of tattooed arms–yes, I’m getting excited about this character. Suffice it to say, I’m having good times on Pinterest fleshing this guy out).

Anyway, all those rough spots will only make the good times better, the rainbows brighter, and the romance sweeter. At least, that’s what I’m banking on.

-Kimber

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Hey, all! It occurred to me on Monday that I should come up with a clever little name for one day of the week and blog religiously on that day. What’s Up Wednesday fit the bill, but it was Monday, so damn. Luckily I’m uber-slow and got hung up on a billion other tasks. I blinked and it’s Wednesday! Like magic, baby!

As an aside, I did a search for What’s Up Wednesday and found this YA author had a weekly hop with the title a few years back. Seems to be defunct, but I’ll give her full credit, especially since she has some swell blog post ideas I’ll probably borrow at some point.

So, what have I been up to? Seems a legit topic to begin. For one, I’ve been working on starting a newsletter and polishing up a short story I plan to dangle in front of your clicking fingers to make you sign up, so get ready for that. It’s the only way to get your hands on my tale, “The Ferryman Cometh,” a dark paranormal erotic MMM, so a tad off my beaten path with that extra M. 😉 I’ll let you know when that’s ready to e-ship, likely by next Wednesday if not sooner.

I’m self-editing “Balancing Act” right this second. I’m about 2/3 done and then I’ll get it to beta readers. It’s a tough edit because I am striving to keep it just under 40,000 words so it doesn’t jump to the next price point with my publisher. At the moment, I have maybe 300 words of wiggle room, so I’m essentially fucked, but still gonna give it my all. The problem is, when I’m writing dialog fast, I often omit the tags and then come in later and add a bit of meat to make it clear who’s speaking. Hopefully I won’t hit any major rough patches in the home stretch that will require, well, more words. 😛

Okay, that’s it for now. Stay tuned for more newsletter info coming shortly, and more general blogging on Wednesday. Heck, maybe I’ll go do some crunches while I’m on my self-improvement kick.

It’s the world’s most inconsistent blogger here, feeling compelled to do the blog thing out of sheer guilt.

I figure a bit about my current projects is in order, yes?

First up, we have numero uno in my Hearts and Scars series (I say series, but they’ll all be standalones, rather tangentially related to the first book). It’s called Crossed Hearts and I am crunching the insightful comments from my beta readers and then plan to shit ship it out to an editor. I’ll be losing my self-publishing virginity, and while I can’t say I’m not nervous, I am excited to see how things go on the other side of the fence. I still firmly intend to traditionally publish, but this has been my little solo pet project, and the autonomy of it is exhilarating. Old dogs, new tricks, yadda, yadda.

Oh, and working with my extremely amenable and talented cover artist, Dana Priebe, has been a ton of fun. She’s a close friend who happens to be like a sister to me. 🙂 I was picky, annoyingly specific, and got precisely what I wanted. Once I get on the horn with an editor and figure out the time frame for release, I’ll get a cover up for your viewing pleasure.

Here’s my cover teaser:

Working Blurb:

Kory Vansant doesn’t deserve to live.

When time sucks him dry of energy, sapping the final ounces of strength from his congenitally enlarged heart, he’s forced to end his career as Kory Kent, porn star. Staring down death, he questions his life choices and prays for a miracle, vowing to change who he is at his core, if only for another chance.

Somehow, his prayers are answered. A perfect heart now beats in his chest. Unfortunately, its previous owner was an innocent young man cut down far too prematurely, and Kory’s blemished history is nowhere near an ideal match.

As his debts skyrocket, Kory can’t help but think his resolve to walk the high road is being tested. After he meets the adorable Will Squire at the gravesite they both visit, he’s doubly damned because there’s no way he can keep up his end of the bargain. What happens when a man breaks a deal with a higher power?

Will often prefers the company of the dead to that of the living. Following a bad breakup, he pours himself into his two jobs—funeral director at his uncle’s mortuary and part-time paramedic. He’s drawn ever closer to Kory, as if fate stuck her fickle hand in and pushed them together like two unlikely puzzle pieces. But sometimes history can’t be buried, and maybe divine intervention isn’t always right. Will discovers everyone is imperfect, no matter how pretty the outer package, and opening one’s heart is never easy, but can be oh so worth the pain.

————

While I was on this self-publishing bender (yeah, right), I got a bee in my bonnet about my Goodreads, Love Has No Boundaries story, Sticking It. Anyone remember that bit of college gymnast-falls-for-the-nerd fluff? Well, despite its warm reception on Goodreads, a number of people wanted it to be longer. At the time of its origin, I kinda felt like it is what it is. Deal with it. Well, seven thousand (or so) words later, it is what it wasn’t, and I’ll be getting that up on Amazon as per popular request (look at me, with my big girl panties yanked up high, all doin’ stuff).

For the readers who really wanted Dane to go to the Olympics, I say, “Your wish is my command!” I hope you were also wishing for more sex. ABRACADABRA!

My Second Addition Cover! Woot!

I can’t tell you the hours of gymnastics video footage I’ve watched to make this happen. Appreciate it, dammit! 😉

This gorgeous new cover was also crafted for me by the phenomenal Dana Priebe. Her website is in the works. I’ll link when it’s up in case anyone is interested in checking out her stuff.

Anyhoo, the second edition of Sticking It should (hopefully) be ready to go within the month, I promise. I’ll keep you posted!

I want to eat Alexis Hall’s brain with a nice Chianti. Admittedly, some of this sentiment is born of jealousy, possibly alcoholism. But mostly it’s respect. Total respect.

For starters, I’m going to boldly state that I rate Alexis Hall’s work on a different scale than other books. In fact, he makes me want to go back to my Goodreads lists and start handing out demerits to other stuff I’ve rated because he sets the bar so fucking high. He makes me want to reread books I thought I enjoyed just so I can throw my Kindle across the room this time around. So, where I rated his follow-up work to Prosperity, There Will Be Phlogiston, a four, that does not mean it is on par with other four-star books. It is hell and gone from other four-star books. Other five-star books, even. Basically, I couldn’t give it the same 5 stars I gave Glitterland, or Sand and Ruin and Gold. Or this. Goddamn, this book right here.

Alexis Hall is a genius and has thoroughly screwed my book-rating system.

Anyway, the book:

Hall pits heaven (Ruben, the ex-preacher) against hell (Milord, the uber-slimy-underground-mob-boss-type-guy), only they’re rather perversely sexually enslaved to each other (wait, could that be love?). And then he gives us the classic hooker with a heart of gold (mebbe) in our narrator, Piccadilly (who Piccadillied his own name–how damn cute is he?). He’s a conniving sewer rat who needs saving, but ends up doing a fair amount of rescuing of others as he risks life and fin on more than one occasion for the crew of the good ship Shadowless. They become the closest thing he’s had to family, and, surprisingly, something worth dying for if need be. Said crew includes the star-crossed lovers mentioned, the addle-brained-yet-cool-as-a-cucumber crackhead navigator, Miss Grey, and then there’s the captain. Oh captain, my captain. For me, Byron Kae was the show-stealer. God, did I want them and Dil to get together for a bit of the whatnot.

Who am I kidding? The world building, Hall’s exquisite voice, every damn character, the delish voyeuristic sex scene, the creeptastic clockwork parts, the space kraken—the whole damn thing was the show-stealer.

And with this, Alexis Hall moves into my top MM author slot. The honor includes such perks as being subjected to cyberstalking and embarrassing fangirling, and having your characters accents bastardized as I read your books aloud to my cat, possibly while he humps his favorite fuzzy pink blanket because he does that a lot. Check and mate. I’m sorry, KJ, but we’ll always have England.

I don’t know how some people do it. At the moment, I have about 18,000 words written on my latest book. It’s slow going. Kids are home and constantly fighting which interferes with my sexy-writing mojo for some unfathomable reason. I’m not sure how I feel about my story, or maybe my characters, or maybe where I’m going with it sometimes. Then I’ll go back and read some of it, and think, Yeah, I dig this. It’s gonna be good. Keep on keepin’ on.

And then I get another idea that I reeeeaaaaaalllllllllly want to write on.

Shit.

Now, I could double team with something like a short story and a novel because the short would get done fast—a quick casual affair—and I’d be back in the saddle soon enough with my novel none the wiser.

But writing on two or more biggies at the same time? I don’t think I could do it. It seems wrong. Dirty. I’d get confused going back and forth. Start to love one more than the other. Maybe never come home to my original after a while.

So, that’s why, when I wrote out a blurb for a new idea and then jotted down part of a scene on a pad of paper today (yeah, the old-fashioned way because somehow that didn’t seem like cheating on my WIP. Sorta like giving an unfinished hand job to another dude wouldn’t be cheating on your husband. It’s bullshit. I’m not fooling anyone), I got a bit nervous. I’m excited about this new idea. I think I’d probably burn through it because I love the bare bones of plot I’ve outlined, not like my hot and cold relationship with my other project. I want to give the shiny new idea all kinds of hand jobs and tell my old WIP I’ve got a headache and then roll over and start snoring.

I know, I know. After you start digging, scrubbing your characters’ toilets and picking up their dirty socks, the luster wears thin. I know this. Sooner or later the new book idea won’t be so spiffy, once I’m elbow deep in it.

That’s why I can’t just pack up and leave my WIP like some faithless hussy. Whatever happened to good times and bad? I need to put in the effort to make this work. Go to counseling, or maybe to that empty office in church where I like to write gaylicious snoo-snoo. Break through the writer’s block with a big chunk of words and a spit-lubed jerk-off for the old ball and chain.

A few hours ago I changed the name of one of my main characters on my WIP because it was a little similar to the name I’ve picked for a character in the new idea. Some character I just freakin’ met.

I tried to tell myself that the new name is even better for my old boy. Porn starier. Hell, maybe it will be just the spark we need to reinvigorate this relationship.

I’m horrible! Does almost a third of a book mean nothing to me? I’m a cold, calloused cunt, sniffing around every pretty book idea that passes by like an author in heat.

Pretty soon I’ll be coming home from Starbucks with lipstick stains on my hard drive.

Maybe I can give them both equal attention. Maybe I can find a way to spend time with my book husband for part of the week and put up my wicked hot new book boy toy in a sweet little corner of the library and visit for the occasional quickie (which would morph into me forgetting my old book’s anniversary and eventually robbing all of its names and one-liners).

No. I’m not that kind of author. I swear. I’ll be faithful. I’ll get ‘er done like a good girl. Till The End do us part. I can do it. But first…I’ll just…be a minute.

I gotta go do that thing, you know, with the thing… <coughs out something incoherent and runs off to find a sticky note and pen>.

Mistakes from the past, feelings denied, and a career on the rise may doom their relationship before it has a chance. K. Vale pens a wonderful, contemporary romance with humor and heat in Hard Act to Follow, Book 3 of her GLBT series, Shooting Stars. Enjoy the twists and turns as best-friends-turned-lovers fight old fears to find new love and their happily-ever-after.

****

Kyrie is an actor with a physical aversion to telling lies, a one-eyed cat, and horrible taste in men. His ex-brother-in-law and best friend, Greg, harbors a secret crush he can’t shake. After denying his feelings for Kyrie for too long, Greg finally gives in to desire one drunken night. Come the morning, the facts get twisted. Kyrie pretends he doesn’t remember a thing—a lie that eats him alive—and Greg can’t stop thinking about how he screwed up the best thing in his life.

Before they can clear the air, Kyrie follows his dreams to New York City, but could he also be running away?

A mistake from Kyrie’s past detonates their silence, and Greg is forced to confront the man he loves. Is their new truth strong enough to support a relationship, or are they doomed to crumble under old fears? Their friendship could evolve into something a million times stronger, but maybe Kyrie’s act is just too hard for Greg to follow

As is usually the case with Ravenous story collections, there are a mix of any and all sexual pairings in here. The only certainty is that there are three people involved in each scenario. 😉 For my contribution, I have an FFM tale called Carrie and Bridget’s Bucket List.

How about an excerpt?

————

The nightclub was packed. Sweaty limbs bumped and rubbed against them as they excused their way through the crowd on the main level.

“Let’s get a drink and scope the place out,” Bridget yelled over the music. They wove toward the bar. Two mango margaritas later, they were shuffling back through the crowd.

“I don’t see him.” Carrie knew she sounded disappointed. She was. Something about the smooth-talking, skydiving jump instructor had made her melt from the moment he opened his mouth. Sure, he was gorgeous with his too-long waves of brown hair kissed with sunshine, and those dark chocolate eyes. His looks were almost boyish. He had a carefree smile and dimples that took her breath away. Oh, and she couldn’t forget the muscular body that had been pressed against her during the jump.

But, no, his physical attractiveness wasn’t what made her keep thinking about him all day. It was—no, not his voice, but his presence. Something about him made her legs weak, almost as if her body were trying to preserve itself—to stop her from obeying his every command.

Yet that unyielding personality, his remarkable air of authority, had gotten her out of the plane after she had balked. Bridget, with her jump instructor Maria, was already a crimson ink splotch against the baby blue sky when Carrie had turned to Dario.

“I can’t do this,” she said.

He spoke against her ear to be heard over the plane’s engine and the air roaring past the open door. His breath was scalding against her neck while his accent rolled over her in a sultry wave of words. “You need to do this. Feel that?” He placed a palm against her stomach, and Carrie sucked in a breath. “Yes, you are scared, but you are also excited. You want to experience this rush. This climax of adrenaline possessing your body. There is nothing like it. Let me show you how good it can be.”

And, with his hard chest at her back, she had jumped out of an airplane.

Carrie didn’t know if anything he said was actually sexual in nature. Did he talk like that to every scared skydiving patron? Was his meaning kinked in translation? She only knew her cotton briefs were clinging to her crotch all the way down. And Dario was right. It was amazing. Borderline orgasmic.